


Tale of Two Runaways

by pinkfloyd1770



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Gen, M/M, Magical Realism, Relationships of Convenience, con-man Hide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-04-27 15:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14428701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkfloyd1770/pseuds/pinkfloyd1770
Summary: Hide's encounter with an odd man on a train to Kyoto forces him to confront his past, and to try to save them both from a terrible prophecy





	1. Chapter 1

"I remember having to read that in school."

The man with the blue dialed Rolex looks at Hide. Barely. He tilts his head so one eye makes contact with both of Hide's.

Oh, so that's what a glance is, live and in person. Hide files the example away.

Hide's silent conversation partner returns both eyes to _Runaway Horses._ It's a hardback, maybe even a first printing. The cover is well-worn at the edges, but Hide would bet his return ticket that there wasn't a dog-eared page between those covers. He'll also bet that every shirt in the guy's closet is as neatly pressed as the one he's wearing now. Pale lavender button-down, indigo jeans. Copper-colored monk-straps that matched his belt.

The Rolex isn't an accident. Hide smiles.

"Personally, I was really bummed by the raw deal Honda got. He built his whole life around thinking that Kiyoaki was reincarnated, but in the end it just turned out to be. Nothing. Pretty depressing."

The man's eyes still; he tenses briefly, all in the hands.

S _o his tells will have something to do with his hands. And. Ah wow._

The man has pale hands and fingers, long but imbued with strength, Hide would guess. What draws his eyes is the man's left ring finger, cut off to the knuckle, like a damaged statue. Hide makes himself focus on the man's response. He'll figure out his backstory later.

"Honda just didn't realize the nature of his life. He thought it was his purpose to help guide Kiyoaki even after death, but the reality was that none of that mattered. Everything he thought held meaning didn't, and in the end he didn't embrace or escape any sort of fate, because there was no fate. There wasn't anything." His tone at the end is…longing, desperate maybe, if Hide is uncharitable.

"Well that may be so, but at least he chose how to live his life, even if in the end it didn't quite turn out the way he might have wanted. I'm not into fate and all that and I still think it's a pretty sad ending., but hey, he had some control, didn't he?"

"Control." The man's voice is quiet, and his posture follows. His hands touch the pages of the book only lightly. "People try to find…reasons for things, patterns, and then they try to understand why or how something happens, and they try to improve themselves, improve their lives. They think they can makes things better with some kind of plan, but I don't think plans like that work. Some lives are just. Tragic, I suppose."

Hide flounders, briefly. His mind pulls him down multiple paths, and he's not sure which to follow, until he settles on the man's body language again, how relaxed he is, how open. 

Seconds pass and the book snaps shut, along with its owner. His lips draw tightly and his eyes narrow. He briefly grips the book in both hands until they're white, and then like the moments after a cloudburst deluge, there's eerie serenity. The man rests his head on the cushioned top of his chair, expels a long breath, and now looks like he's ready for a nap.

_That was him, bare. Well, something about that phrase really hit home at least. Let's steer clear of that, shall well?_

"Aw, crap. I didn't mean to bring up any bad memories or anything for you. I just. Wanted to pass the time on the train."

The man sighs. "It's fine. Doesn't matter." He smiles then, another surprise. It's far more easygoing than Hide expected, based solely on their interaction. "We're just strangers on a train."

That makes Hide smile. It's such a comforting phrase, such a comforting situation. He leans on his armrest, so he narrows the gap between himself and the other man.

"Absolutely."

Hide learns that his travel companion is headed to Kyoto to meet with a friend, and that they'll both attend a conference on modern Japanese literature, with a lecture roster spanning professionals from Osaka to Sapporo. He's apparently not an academic, but he's acquainted with enough of them to have received an invitation to attend. He'll interview a few of the attendees and produce some anthology of salient points regarding the status of current thought on selected topics. Two days for the conference, the man says, and then he and his friend will 'take in the sights of the city.' He sounds less than pleased at being a tourist.

"I like the history. I like the architecture." He pauses. "Art and architecture are so deeply connected to history, so that's fascinating. I don't mind any of that."

_But you do mind the companion._

Hide gets it. There are plenty of people he knows that he'd rather not go on a week-long tour of Kyoto with. He wonders if he'd call any of them friends.

"Your friend a writer too?"

The man considers this, his face neutral. "He's. No. I wouldn't say that. He doesn't actually do much for a living. He finished school, but I don't think he's ever had a normal job."

_Ah, one of those types._

Hide imagines rolling his eyes, but an expression like that always gave away so, so much. He neatly pushes thoughts of his father and extended family aside.

"I get it. Everyone needs to feel like they're doing something, even if they aren't."

That pronouncement nets Hide an odd look. "Is that how you approach your life?"

Hide laughs. "It's not bad. You can waste a lot of time searching for some weird meaning, but never find it, you know?"

The man's expression clearly indicates he doesn't. "Meaning is important. An end point is important." He cracks a knuckle, and his mouth thins again.

Hide redirects.

"So do you'll think you'll run into someone like Murakami there?" He means it as a joke, but he receives a serious answer.

The man takes a moment to process his surprise. He shrugs. "Maybe. It's happened before, so who knows?"

Hide doesn't conceal his bit of awe. "What was it like to meet him?"

"I gushed over him like a girl at an idol concert," the guy admits with a laugh. "Except instead of a poster I had his book, so."

He reaches into his briefcase, takes out a book, and hands it across the aisle, open to the title page. _Kafka on the Shore._ Hide sees the author's signature scrawled in the center. He's more interested in the name in the upper right corner, written in confident cursive characters.

Kaneki Ken.

Hide hands the book back. "Hang onto that. It'll be worth a lot someday."

"It's worth more to me the way it is," Kaneki says with easy confidence. "Besides, who knows how far away 'someday is?" He speaks like he knows precisely how far away that day might be. He sounds beyond the point of resignation.

_Hmm. How dramatic._

"I can dig that." He extends a hand. "I'm Hide, by the way."

Kaneki takes it firmly. "Nice to meet you. What are you doing, going to Kyoto?"

"Used to live there a while ago. I guess now it's. Hmm. Nostalgia." For what, Hide still can't say, but nostalgia is the only word he's ever been able to find.

"That could be dangerous," Kaneki says. He's dead serious in that moment and Hide immediately has to resist his instincts to tense. Then Kaneki shrugs. "But we can't help feelings like that."

"You're wise beyond your years," Hide quips. He's relaxed again, and so is Kaneki. Even his hands are void of tension.

_He's an odd one. No doubt._

Kaneki rolls his eyes. "I'm probably younger than you."

"Everyone's younger than me," Hide says, the nonsense setting him further at ease. "I'm world-wise. Distilled from intense experiences. You can't get that with just age, you know."

"You sound more like a giant dork," the words are blunt, but Kaneki's expression is amused.

"I won't deny that. Let's just say I'm not all that. Sophisticated, I guess?" Hide stops shy of affecting a befuddled expression.

Kaneki appears thoughtful. He brushes his black, thick hair to one side. It's the only part of him that isn't meticulously composed.

"That's a pretty misunderstood word. You said you're worldly, and in your case, I'd say they're one and the same."

"Ha!" Hide crows. He hopes the outburst will distract from his momentarily wide eyes. The guy really is something.

"I hope you get paid to read or write."

"Everyone gets paid to read or write, in some way." Kaneki's tone is light, and his amusement is obvious in his smile.

"Hmm, and what about talking?"

"Talking's never been my thing."

Hide crosses his arms, and scrutinizes Kaneki with exaggerated intensity.

"Reaaaaally?"

"Yeah," Kaneki says, and returns an exaggerated expression. "Really."

"Ah, but I've got you away from your book, so what does that say about me?"

"I've read this book five times."

Hide believes it. Kaneki has probably read every book he owns five times and could probably find something new to say each time. Hide has a few favorites of his own, or _Huckleberry Finn_ , specifically. He'd learned enough English from his albums to listen to the book on audiotape in its original language. He supposes _His Dark Materials_ should also be on the list.

"Only five, huh? Well, I'm still flattered, thanks."

"I'll bet. Are you going to Kyoto to just wander around, nostalgically?"

"Hey, I like that phrase. Wander nostalgically. Sounds like something you'd do at night during spring."

"It's spring right now."

"Heh. So it is."

Kaneki shakes his head. "You're a really weird guy."

_Back at you_

"Sophisticated, is the word you're looking for. But, no. Unfortunately I'm not just going to be nostalgic in spring. There's a record store I'm gonna stop at, and then hell, I might go to the Arashiyama. Always nice in warmer weather."

"Crowded too, probably." Kaneki mutters. His displeasure is again on display in his tight lips .

"Crowds can be good. Easy to get lost in." And thank the gods for that.

"And if you don't want to get lost?"

"Don't go to Arashiyama in spring." Hide feels a small thrill. It's such a nice, neat cap to a topic.

"You'd make a shitty tour guide."

Hide's indignation almost brings him to his feet.

"That is the biggest lie you will ever tell! You know, I was a tour guide in high school. People loved me. They gave me massive tips."

"Massive," Kaneki repeats blandly.

Hide waves his hand. "The Americans. You can't stop those people from giving you money. They must have thought I was indentured, or something."

Kaneki appears less skeptical. "So you know Kyoto."

_Ah good. Not phrasing it as a question._

"Yup. Like the back of my hand. Another American bit of wisdom."

"Huh." Kaneki is amused again. He doesn't always smile, but his body seems to uncoil like a spring. Hide takes his chance.

"And if you don't mind a potential third wheel, I could show you and your friend some places that aren't going to have rivers of people."

Kaneki relaxes further. There's relief now and Hide gives a showman's smile. He once counted how much money came from that smile, and the number made the expression of joy genuine.

"I think that sounds like a nice idea."

Hide nods. It looks like he's going to add to his previous tally.

"See? You're already relying on my expertise."

"What expertise? You haven't done anything."

"Well." Hide stands and pulls a small notepad from his back pocket. He twirls a Bic pen between his fingers for minimal effect.

"You're a book loving dude. There's a book store near the record shop I like to visit. Here's the address." Hide sketches a rough map of the streets flanking the store, along with its number. He tears the sheet off its spiral and hands it to Kaneki.

"Thank you." He's genuinely grateful; it shows on his face as well as through his voice and Hide has trouble keeping his smile.

_The watch. Just the watch. He won't miss it. Dad sure as hell didn't miss his._

Kaneki is still absorbed in Hide's crude map. He mouths the names of the intersections, then folds the paper and places it in one of the small pockets of his leather briefcase.

The train begins to slow; Hide guesses he'll hit the platform in under two minutes. He tenses, realizes his company, then relaxes. An urgency seizes Kaneki as well. He brushes a hand across his chin, smooths the front of his crisp shirt, and checks re-checks the pockets of his soft briefcase. Seconds later, he has an epiphany, and produces his own notepad and writes. He tears the marked sheet from the rest with a careful hand that teases a smile from Hide.

"Here's the name and address of my hotel. Maybe you already know it, but never hurts to make sure."

Hide touches the paper and Kaneki flinches. His arms stiffen, and his eyes tighten with pain; he endures the onslaught mutely until the paper leaves his fingers, then exhales a slow, long breath. Sweat beads his forehead, and his hand trembles briefly before he stills it by what must be sheer force of will.

"Hey, Kaneki, you OK?" Hide is close to him. He hasn't touched Kaneki, but his hands are raised, poised and ready to offer a generic, but effective kind of comfort.

"Fine," Kaneki's voice is strained, and he moves his left hand to cover his right, but doesn't act fast enough to occlude the red mark that stands stark against his pale skin. As Hide watches, the mark undulates against Kaneki's skin, and moves under his shirt cuff and up his arm. Its rough, raw edges outline the shape of a lizard, a.

A gecko.

The memory of that night, the car trunk, the pliers, the man with the reptilian face, smack into Hide. Phantom pain threads from the tip of his fingers, through his arms and settles between his shoulders like a long-healed brand. He shudders, and the threat of a tide of pain recedes.

Kaneki mirrors Hide's previous concern, but he doesn't move forward, doesn't extend his hands. There's a fear in his features that contrasts with his sympathy, hardens his face until Hide can't tell if he's realized his mark has been revealed, or if he can somehow hear the deep, dead voice of the lizard-faced man that fills Hide's mind with the same certainty of prophecy it had almost a year ago.

_You'll kill your father, with your own hands within one year, or I'll kill you_


	2. Chapter 2

Uta's store remains unchanged.

Records in the front, arranged on rows of cherry wood display shelves, art masks hung in the back against a stark white wall. Exceptionally rare examples of both sit in display cases that would have fit in at the local museum. The checkered floor is as immaculate as ever. Uta keeps the store lit just brightly enough so customers can make out the descriptions of their potential purchases. A record always plays in the background, something Uta deems an integral part of the customer experience.

Uta sometimes told the story of how he grew the shop out of the spare room in his first apartment, the one he'd shared with his friend Yomo Renji. Neither man had an easily pinned down, lucrative skill set, but Uta had aesthetic sense and comfort with people, and Yomo knew how to refurbish otherwise undesirable commercial real estate with a handful of rented and personal power tools.

What started as a side venture that had only provided a supplement to Uta's income became a mature business and, once it was featured in multiple popular blogs and magazines, a fixture in the ward.

When Hide walks in, Sado Watanabe is playing 'Nostalgia' over the store speakers. There are three other people in the store besides Uta, and the man himself stands behind the counter, absorbed in a magazine.

"Oh. You never came back to get parts for those headphones. I'm assuming you fixed them yourself, hm?"

Uta doesn't look up. His voice has the same, soft, lyrical quality that would make a vocalist envious. Hide notices a fresh tattoo on the back of his left hand. He can't place its significance, but he'd wager it's another Western influence. Kaneki could probably puzzle out its meaning.

_I wonder if he figured out what the gecko means? Ah. It doesn't mean anything. Just the ranting of a crazy man. But Kaneki probably has some elaborate structure all planned out. Layers and layers of meaning that don't go anywhere. But why did his mark move so much?_

Hide pulls the left earpiece to the side. It snaps back fitfully.

"Sounds better than ever."

"Mhm. Where did you get the parts?"

"Heh, is that professional resentment?"

"Professional curiosity. There isn't a terribly large market for headphone parts." Uta flips a page of his magazine as he speaks. His voice elevates even their currently mundane discussion.

"You got me there." Hide moves out of the way as a customer brings up a Frank Sinatra record. It's held by a young woman, probably only two or three years older than Hide.

_Good taste._

If he didn't think the next few days would be a frantic dash in and out of Kyoto, Hide might have even asked her on a date.

Uta goes through the motions of courtesy and attention as he completes the transaction. He even smiles and tells the woman to 'please come again.' And then he's back to reading as though nothing happened.

Hide sighs. He moves closer to the counter, musters his professional expression, and speaks in a low voice,

"So I stopped by because I've been looking to add to my record collection. Do you have a vintage Nevermind vinyl in stock? I've got time, so I can wait around if you want to check in the back."

Uta, nonplussed says, 'I'm sorry, we don't. There isn't much interest in that sort of thing right now."

_Seriously? Uta was bored of the switch con already?_

Hide hid his annoyance. Fine. He'd amuse the flighty ass with superstitions.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Hey, maybe you can help me find something else." Hide narrows his eyes and scratches his cheek to appear thoughtful. "There was this vinyl I listened to at a friend's house a while back. Really, ah, unique sound. Can't quite remember the name of the album though, or the artist. All I remember was the art on the sleeve. Had a bright red gecko."

Uta lays his magazine in front of him and folds it flat with a sweep of his hands. He regards Hide for a few seconds. The tinted contacts he wears never intimidated Hide, but his naked gaze commands attention regardless. He speaks quietly.

"Follow me, if you please. I may need your help to identify the item you want." He walks the length of the counter and turns into the backroom entrance at the end without further comment. Hide follows quickly. He wonders if there are any petty thieves among the customers.

The backroom is plainly decorated, but nicer than the shop, in Hide's opinion. It has all the furniture of a living room, and all the clutter of a well-used study. Art and architecture books that would normally stay closed and adorn coffee tables lay open, their pages marked with brightly covered office notes. Behind the table at the center of the room, against the back wall is Uta's makeshift work space. Arrays of carpentry and metalworking tools hang on pegs or sit arranged in groups. Uta takes a seat at the book-laden table and starts to examine the survey on Greek architecture laid out before him.

"You had an interesting ride on the train, hm?"

Hide remains standing. Maybe it'll convey a sense of urgency. He relates the story of his brief contact with Kaneki, and places careful emphasis on the details of his books, just to see the interest he knows it will stir in Uta. Hide watches Uta's reaction closely as the gecko mark incident is laid out. He no longer pretends to examine his book, and he leans forward, just on the edge of his chair.

Ah. Hide has him.

Uta relaxes and closes his eyes.

"This…book critic. Tell me more about him. Try and let me see his face."

_I'll take a picture for you next time, Uta_

Hide crosses his arms over his chest while he orders his thoughts.

"Reserved. Definitely has things to hide, and not just an embarrassing story or even some kind of social taboo. He's convinced tragedy is a part of his life. It might be, if he's mixed up in the same sort of thing I was. He takes all the bad things that have happened to him to heart though. Takes very good care of himself, appearance wise. Wouldn't surprise me if everything in his closet was dry cleaned at some point. He's either rich or knows someone very generous."

"His friend, perhaps?" Uta's eyes are open. He rests his chin atop an open palm.

Hide considered that. People had all sorts of arrangements. Interesting arrangements. Dangerous.

"He didn't seem comfortable spending the week with his friend. At least not in Kyoto."

"Hmm. One sided attraction. Coerced or bought." Uta frowns, one of the few times Hide has seen him displeased. "Distasteful, wouldn't you say?"

_Oh? Notes of Yomo?_

"People do what they have to." Hide keeps his tone level and doesn't shy from Uta's face.

"Hm." Uta thankfully lets the topic drop. He touches a high gloss photo of the Acropolis.

"Did you discern anything about his apparent tragic fate, when you saw his mark?"

Hide expels his breath in a short puff.

"No. Come on, this isn't a play."

"I suppose not. It's interesting, though, how deeply those classical works inform our thought and art. I take inspiration for quite a few of my masks from the Greek tragedies and epics. I read Sophocles very closely to draw out inspiration when someone asks for a rendition of anguish or terror."

"And people ask for that? Specifically?" People really should be held to account for taste.

"It's more often an attempt to render a long period of woe in their lives. Synthesize it, freeze it in time. It's a stylization, of course, but art is only a representation of some reality, after all. Still, my approximation seems to resonate more with customers than whatever wanders through their minds."

Uta's gaze is keen and Hide remembers the unfortunate day the shop keeper offered him a mask.

"I'll keep whatever's in my mind. It's foggy, but I'm fine with all that." He's again casual, but he doubts Uta takes anything he says at face value.

"Are you going to see your father?"

_Ah. Of course you'd ask that._

"Hmm, I don't think the old man would be very happy to see me. Wasn't all that thrilled when I left." Hide crosses his arms again and grips his biceps tightly.

"Are you afraid of him? Or are you afraid of what you might do to him?" Uta is still in the chair, but he's closer now, feels much closer, as though he might close the gap between them merely by leaning.

"I'm not going to see him. There's no point, nothing for me to gain."

"But quite a lot to lose."

Hide musters himself. He levels his breathing, lowers his arms and keeps them at his side, and he speaks slowly to keep his voice steady. As a last defense, he puts on a smile.

"Heh, you got me again. I'm a coward, but you already knew that. But that's not even it. I'm not going back to that house ever again, because I don't want to. There's no benefit for me. Simple as that."

Hide feels a dapple of sweat on his forehead and beneath his jacket, but that's all right. It's not easy to make something like that out.

Uta recedes, like some sea monster that rose from the deep ocean and snared its prey. He seems to contemplate Hide's words as though they're prey as well, eyes closed and mind parsing.

"I'd like to see your mark. Is it in the same place?"

Hide almost tenses. He stops himself, though his hands tremble for moments. He keeps his smile, loose and relaxed, though his jaw threatens to imbibe all the wound-up energy from his arms and legs and clamp shut. He concentrates and steadies his voice.

"Back-room pervert, huh? Well, I guess you've got something I want, and I've got something you want. So."

Hide removes his jacket, then his black tee shirt, and sets both on the empty chair in front of him. He turns toward the shop door. His bare arms hang at his side, the right just above the cut of his pocket. The room is cool, and goosebumps prickle across his exposed skin.

He hears Uta leave the chair before he feels his presence. He wouldn't describe that presence as a warmth, more like pinpricks across his back and a tightening in his chest. He remembers the same sensation when his father stopped him at the door after school or in the evenings after his walks. At least now Hide doesn't have to keep a blank face in the wake of his father's eyes, but his mind wanders to the same place and time. A train, a cloudless sky, a ticket to wherever he wants pressed between his thumb and forefinger. Mountains, forests, and cities blur past. The landscape is shape and color and Hide can pick out sharpness and texture only if he wants.

When Uta touches the space between Hide's shoulder blades where the dull, white mark stands against his skin, Hide feels it as a distant thud in the background of his mind, far away thunder from black storm clouds on the horizon, while in the foreground he's still twisting along a track under a clear bright sky. He breaths normally, deeply. In and out. He can tell the conductor where to go, how quickly, when to stop, where to stop.

Uta's fingers trace the shape of the mark as though he can lift its meaning out through contact. Cracks of white lighting form in the nebulous clouds that paint the horizon. Hide stares at the door to the shop. His fingers have edged deeper into his right pocket and the cool feel of metal is a ground for his anxiety.

"Hmm."

"Ha. That interesting?" Hide doesn't move an inch.

Uta makes no reply. He traces another circuit of the mark and withdraws his fingers. Hide's fingers leave his knife. He puts his shirt and coat on in silence. Uta's attention is elsewhere. He's back in the chair and wears a far-off expression.

"Well, that was stupid." He counts to ten. "Kaneki's a new mark, but you already knew that. He's got a watch."

Uta taps a finger on the open Greek art book.

"Another watch. Poetic."

"If you say so." Hide pulls out the chair in front of him and sits.

"The mark on your back…"

"I don't care about that. Rolex, Deep Sea. Blue dial. I need a copy in the next three days."

Uta steeples his hands again. He looks ahead at the opposite wall, then speaks slowly.

"If you willingly rush forward in the same direction as this man with the watch, are you avoiding fate, or playing into her machinations?"

Hide grunts.

"Look, Uta, I've been patient. I let you see the brand on my back, and I told you about Kaneki's likes and dislikes. I've said it before, and I'll say it again. It's nonsense. You can believe in destiny, or not. But that watch is real, and it defies all the disbelief you can ever muster."

Uta smiles. "What a wonderful turn of phrase." He sounds almost dreamy. "I believe I can get you your reality-affirming watch. Did you notice how accurate the dial read?"

"It's completely accurate. All those watches are perpetual motion, so the guy must wear it every day."

"The gears and hands move so long as he does. In perpetuity." Uta is absolutely delighted. "Ah, the steel of those bracelets is difficult to machine. It's called 904L in the trade, and requires specialized tools, but the techniques and machines have their own rewards." He regards Hide seriously for the first time.

"Your man will probably notice a difference in weight. If he wears his watch every day, he's bound to."

"Genuine bracelet, genuine dial. I know you've got sapphire crystals stashed away. Should be fine." Hide gives himself a few hours after the switch to skip before trouble starts.

"You'll have to tell me how all this works out in the end. I have my doubts about whether you'll succeed. Kaneki Ken sounds like a very serious man, and serious men take very careful notice of their possessions."

' _As you should well know.' Come on and say it, Uta, and finish the drama._

"You know I'd love to make your friend a mask. I already have an idea drawn out." Uta taps his temple lightly.

"He's only my friend for the next few days. Feel free to try and bump into him like I did, if you want. Don't see much point in bringing him here."

"Hm. I doubt I'll need to put much effort into meeting him. Fate seems to have him in her sights."

The certainty in the shop owner's voice grates on Hide far more than he likes. He offers nothing but a lazy smile in reply.

_Fuck you, Uta_


End file.
